


bringing him back

by orionwalking



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Dom/sub Undertones, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Spanking, Top Keith (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 20:35:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17372852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orionwalking/pseuds/orionwalking
Summary: Five years after the war, Shiro still sometimes finds himself lost.Keith is there to bring him back like always.





	bringing him back

**Author's Note:**

> this is really emotional smut and i don't know what else to say. also kind of a vent fic. takes place post s8 but in an au where most of it never happened. that's really all you need to know.

The war has been over for five years now but Shiro still sometimes talks about it in present tense. He still wakes up with sweat on his brow and goosebumps crawling on his flesh, the tension behind his eyes and clenching tight in his throat that tells him he is fighting for his life and the lives of everyone he has ever known. He eats with the precision of a man who does not know his next meal, savoring bites like they are precious and finite, talks with the care of one who is not sure if the words that leave him will be his last. Every goodbye is calculated. When he smiles, he does so deliberately; he does not know when the next occasion will come when he will be afforded such a luxury, where he can shed the persona he has built to keep himself whole. It has been five years, but sometimes it seems as if no time has passed at all. 

 

Shiro still thinks of everyone he has ever hurt, everyone he couldn’t save, and everyone he’s ever lost. He thinks they are burned into his skin more deeply than any of his scars could ever be. 

 

Sometimes he recites the last thing he ever said to them. Like a rerun of a show he’s particularly fond of, he reads through lines, flipping through a script of almosts and should-haves. Shiro doesn’t regret falling in love again, but he does regret never getting the chance to gracefully fall out of it. He doesn’t regret the universe being saved, but he does resent the sacrifices they had to make to see it through. He does not know the names of all the people, creatures, and in betweens he fought in the Arena, but he does know the noises they made as they died, can feel the way they squirmed as he squeezed, knows the sounds of pain and fear in more languages than Galran technology could translate… 

 

“Shiro.”

 

Somehow, it always comes back to this. Shiro knows that voice like he knows his own name, like he knows how to breathe. It seeps under his skin, deep and coaxing, and suddenly he’s aware he’s been sitting in the same spot for the past two hours at least, that he’s been staring at the same spot on the wall, that he’s been shaking. He feels the tremors all of a sudden, looks down at his own trembling hand, realizes that the other is not flesh and reminds himself  _ yes, that’s yours.  _ It’s not the same arm he started with, not the same body he started with, not the same anything, but it’s his now, it’s got to be --

 

“Shiro,” the voice says again, and this time it’s firmer. Scolding, almost, which is funny, because that’s not the way they started, either.

 

_ Why do you always cover for me? _

 

_ Because you deserve the second chances.  _

 

_ This isn’t my second chance, Shiro.  _

 

_ You deserve as many chances as you need. Now come on, these bikes aren’t going to ride themselves…  _

 

But it all comes full circle. 

 

It all comes back to Keith, in the end. 

 

_ As many times as it takes.  _

 

He’s beautiful like this. Concerned but frustrated, or maybe just exasperated, eyebrows knit together as he stands with one hand on his hip. His hair has gotten longer in the past months, and Shiro suspects it’s half because he can’t be bothered to cut it and half because Shiro wraps it around his fingers at every chance he gets, pulls sometimes when the mood strikes. It’s long enough to braid, so that’s what he does, whether it’s himself with quick, efficient fingers or by Shiro, who slows down the process just so he can feel the soft strands between his fingers, hear Keith sigh and relax as he massages at his scalp. Sometimes he pretends to mess up just so he can do it all over again, if Keith’s caught on, he’s never said anything. Sometimes they spend the better part of an hour with his fingers in Keith’s hair, combing through it and eventually weaving dark strands together, while Keith talks or reads or just lies there, content. 

 

It looks especially good fanned out and undone in their bed, too. 

 

“Shiro,” Keith says one more time, and this time Shiro knows what he’s waiting for. 

 

“I didn’t think it was this bad,” he says, and means it. 

 

Keith hums. He comes to sit on Shiro’s lap, reaches up to brush his fingers through Shiro’s pale hair. Sometimes it still bothers him when he looks in the mirror, but he tries not to let it. Keith likes it. “What do you need?” he asks, and places a hand on Keith’s cheek, reminding him that he’s there. 

 

Reminding him to look. Reminding him that that is his body to look through. 

 

_ It’s not, Keith, it’s not, they made this, they made this --  _

 

_ And now it’s yours. Shiro, look at me. It’s yours. Feel that? Yours. I saved you, and now it’s yours.  _

 

Shiro sighs, melting into the touch. “I don’t know,” he says, and that time it’s a lie. 

 

Keith tugs at his hair, not hard enough to really sting, but insistent enough that he gasps. His eyes are harder now, but no less loving. “What do you need, Shiro?” he asks again. 

 

It takes him a while to say it, and even then it’s not much. His throat works around it, like it’s a lump he can’t quite swallow past, his chest tightens. “You,” is all he manages. “I need you, Keith.” 

 

Keith tuts. His eyes are hard, but Shiro knows that’s only so he doesn’t give himself away. “You let it get this bad, huh?” 

 

It’s all he says before he climbs off Shiro’s lap, and the sound that leaves his lips is distinctly whine-like. Keith laughs at him, amused but not unkind, patting his cheek. The next thing Shiro knows, he’s dropping to his knees. It’s not nearly the first time he’s seen him there, but he swallows anyway. Violet eyes stare up at him, hungry and calculating, and Shiro can’t breathe for a second. 

 

If there’s one thing he knows without a shadow of a doubt, it’s that Keith is stunning. 

 

“I know you think you’re the one who should be down here,” he’s saying, and Shiro, even through the haze, is forced to listen. That voice keeps him tethered, keeps him grounded, and he’s helpless to do anything but stare as Keith undoes the fly to his uniform pants. “Which is why I’m not going to let you. Not yet. Maybe later you can suck my cock, Shiro, but right now I’m going to suck yours. You wanna know why?”

 

“Why?” Shiro asks, caught hook, line, sinker, mouth dry and eyes wide. He goes where Keith’s hands move him, lifts his hips so he can slide down his pants and boxers. Just enough. 

 

“Because you deserve it, and because I want to,” Keith says simply, and then his mouth is on him. 

 

When Shiro and Keith finally got together, a full year after the war ended, Keith admitted that the most he’d ever done was this, and not more than twice. He’d been embarrassed, maybe convinced he didn’t know what he was doing, but Shiro had assured him that no matter what, they could figure it out together. He wasn’t a stranger to clumsy blowjobs beside Garrison bunks, or the fumbling that was almost necessary when you first had a thick cock in your mouth, filling up your nose and drenching your senses in musk and oh-my-gods. 

 

_ I gagged the first time, Keith. Trust me, practice makes perfect.  _

 

_ Patience yields focus, Captain? _

 

_ You got it.  _

 

As it turned out, Keith didn’t need to worry. If he really hadn’t practiced, he was a fucking natural with his mouth. 

 

It figured that Keith took to sucking cock the way he did any other task, reckless and determined. His eyes burn into Shiro’s as he kisses and sucks, wet, filthy noises echoing around the room. What wasn’t in his mouth was in his hands, calloused fingers rubbing at his balls and forcing him to pay attention. The nails of his free hand dig into Shiro’s thighs, keeping him steady and in place to do with whatever he wants. 

 

Shiro doesn’t have time to breathe before he’s shoved down Keith’s throat, tight, warm heat surrounding him all at once. Keith waits until he’s watching him again before he swallows, pulling off to gasp in air before he does it all over again. Shiro knows not to move his hips, to even so much as tremble too hard. 

 

It doesn’t matter that Keith is the one on his knees with his mouth stuffed full, tears gathering in the corner of his eyes as he fights down a gag with each self-inflicted helping of Shiro’s thick cock. He’s the one in charge, and Shiro needed to accept that. 

 

Keith falls into a rhythm. He takes him all the way in, stay until his eyes water and his throat bulges with the effort, and then pulls off to kiss, open-mouthed, wet kisses all over the base of him, over his balls, anywhere he can reach, like he’s hungry for Shiro and won’t stop until he’s had his fill. He moans around the length of him, hums when he’s got just the tip in his mouth, sucks like he’s precious and nuzzles against his balls when he rests his jaw. 

 

It still isn’t enough, and it’s not Keith’s fault. 

 

_ Why are you ignoring me? Shiro, what’s going on? _

 

_ I’m not ignoring you, Keith.  _

 

_ Bullshit. You’re ignoring me, and it’s pissing me off. Tell me what’s wrong. I’m not some stranger, I’m your -- Shiro, c’mon. What’s up? This isn’t you.  _

 

_ I can’t… Keith, something’s wrong, I think something’s wrong with me -- _

 

_ Shh. Hey, hey, don’t worry, I’ve got you, we’ll figure this out…  _

 

“I’m losing you again, aren’t I?” 

 

It’s a rhetorical question. Keith’s mouth is swollen, pressed into a thin line as he looks up at him. Shiro hadn’t registered when he’d taken his cock out of his mouth, but his entire body flushes when he realizes that it’s lying against his thigh now, spit-slick and only half-hard.

 

“This isn’t working,” Keith says for both of them, and sighs. He rises to his knees, and Shiro notes how even his simplest movements have grace to them. “Fine. Lie back, Shiro. Now.” 

 

Shiro goes immediately, every bit the dutiful soldier. He doesn’t know exactly where Keith wants him, but he settles for far enough back on the bed that he can settle without hanging off of it. His pants have slid down to his knees, and it makes moving difficult. Keith fixes this by tugging them off, and the cool air of the room and exposure makes Shiro flush up to his ears again. 

 

“You’re hiding again, Shiro,” Keith accuses, lips pursed. “You know you don’t need to. It’s just me. Do you need me to be mean? Is that what it is?” 

 

Shiro keeps his mouth shut, but he’s aware he’s trembling again. 

 

Keith drapes himself over him, slotting their bodies together, and Shiro resists the urge to grab for him. To bring him down for a firm, deep kiss, to slide his tongue between his lips and work them both breathless. He could grind Keith against him until he’s hard and ready, until he’s whimpering and needy, finger him open until he’s loose enough to sit on his cock…

 

“That’s not what you need,” Keith says, and Shiro wonders, not for the first time, if he can read his mind. “You don’t need to fuck me, Shiro. Not tonight. So tell me what you need.” 

 

“You,” he says again, wondering why his voice is hoarse when he’s not the one who just deepthroated a dick. 

 

“Tell me,” is all Keith says, and Shiro becomes aware that he’s closer, their faces inches from each other’s. Their noses graze together, rub, and he feels himself smile. “There he is. There’s my Shiro. Now tell me what you need so I can give it to you, okay?”

 

“I need to hurt,” Shiro admits, and winces in the aftermath. 

 

Keith only coos at him. He brushes his hair out of his face, kisses his cheeks, presses their forehead together. “Good boy, Shiro,” he whispers, and something in Shiro breaks. 

 

_ I hurt you, I hurt you, Keith, fuck --  _

 

_ Shiro. Shiro, you didn’t. You never could.  _

 

“Get on your knees, Shiro.”

 

And Shiro does. He goes, trembling and blushing, shame deep in his gut even as he reminds himself that he needs this, and Keith will always give it to him. He’ll give it to him even when Shiro doesn’t know the right words to ask, when the nightmares get bad, when he doesn’t know how to look through his eyes and see the world and not the inside of a gladiator match or a battlefield anymore -- 

 

“Color, Shiro,” Keith says, bringing him back. Always bringing him back.

 

“Green,” he says, and means it. 

 

The first slap comes unexpected, which must be Keith’s intention. When he can anticipate the blows, it’s sometimes harder to get into them. Sometimes Keith will make him count them out, or ask for each one, but he hasn’t said anything, so Shiro assumes that’s not what he wants. The next few come all at once, a flurry of Keith’s hand against his ass and then the back of his thighs that leaves him teetering, his body unsure if it wants to lean back into the touch or pitch forward away from the pain. Keith has a heavy hand, and he always has. 

 

“Maybe I’ll use something beside my hand,” Keith says, when Shiro has lost count of how many he’s gotten, when the heat radiating from his ass is enough to catch his attention and sting. “What do you want, Shiro, hm? What should I use?” 

 

Shiro whimpers in response, squirming out of the way of a particularly hard spank. Keith drags him back, just like always, and holds him there. 

 

“Stay still,” he demands, and so Shiro does. “Tell me why you think you need this.”

 

Keith’s hand falls heavy against his thighs again, reddening them, and Shiro gasps at each new blossoming of pain. It’s not enough for tears yet, but he feels them coming, feels his body reacting slowly. It’s hot, and sensitive, and too much, and so Keith starts to knead his flesh between strikes, making it harder to tell when the hurt is going to come. 

 

“Takashi,” Keith says, and hits him harder than he has all night, a stinging red handprint left behind. “Tell me.”

 

“Because I couldn’t save them,” he gasps, and then the tears come. 

 

Keith spanks again, humming his approval. “Why else, baby?” 

 

“Because I was scared.” It comes out as a sob, and Keith gives him three more, encouraging, the pain spiking his focus. “Because I didn’t know what to do, because -- because I never asked to be a leader, either, because I never meant to hurt anyone, because I fucking  _ died _ and I had to watch as everyone went on without me, because I fell in love with you and I didn’t know what to  _ do _ , because everyone was counting on me, because I still have his memories, because this isn’t my body, because I’m afraid to be happy sometimes, because, because…” 

 

“Shh.” Keith’s voice is warm now, soothing. “Shh, Takashi. I’ve got you. Let go.”

 

So he does. 

 

Shiro isn’t sure for how long he cries. Keith rolls him over at some point, onto his side, anchors him and rubs at his back as he sobs. He strokes his hair and kisses him wherever he can reach, tells him that he’s good, that he’s brave, that he’s okay, that he’s safe. 

 

Shiro believes him. 

 

Finally, Keith says, “Shiro, can you be a good boy for me?” 

 

He nods without thinking. He can. For Keith, he always can. 

 

Shiro is aware, now. He feels everything. The sting from his ass, the tears on his cheeks, Keith’s hands on his body as he maneuvers him. He knows that when Keith kisses him and stretches out with the rest of his body, he’s going for the lube they’ve got in the drawer. His heart pounds, anticipation warming him just as much as Keith’s hand did. 

 

“Fuck me,” Shiro begs. 

 

“I will,” Keith promises. 

 

Keith takes his time, something he only seems capable of doing with Shiro. He fingers him open slowly, up on his knees where he can get as deep as he wants to. When he finds Shiro’s prostate, he rubs against it mercilessly, smirking at the bliss on Shiro’s face and the moans that come out of his mouth, cock bobbing against his stomach again. He has three inside by the time he pulls out, because they both know what they really want. 

 

Shiro cries again once he’s got Keith’s cock inside of him. Keith strokes his cheeks, pets his hair, smiles against his lips where he places sweet, gentle kisses. “I love you, Takashi,” he whispers. 

 

“I love you, too,” Shiro says, and even though he’s said it before, said it a thousand times, it feels like the first time all over again. 

 

They fuck slow. Keith pushes back in each time with an impossibly slow roll of his hips, making Shiro feel every inch of his cock. “See, isn’t this better?” Keith murmurs, somewhere near his ear, kissing open-mouthed and nipping hard enough to make Shiro cry out. “Isn’t it better when you let me give you what you need, Shiro? When you let me help you?” 

 

“Yeah,” Shiro agrees, and then moans, because Keith is right against that spot again, grinding deliberately, and he knows he won’t last long. 

 

By the time Keith is fucking him harder, deeper, faster, he’s a whimpering, drooling mess. He can’t kiss back when Keith kisses him, so Keith kisses around his lips inside, peppering them all over until he finds his way down to his jaw and neck. There he sucks marks Shiro knows he’ll be covering up for days. 

 

“This is what you needed,” Keith says, his voice deeper now that he’s balls deep inside, now that he’s fucking him the way they both want, hips snapping against the red of Shiro’s sore ass, “You needed this, didn’t you? Needed me to spank you all red and rosy and then fuck your poor ass until you come? Come on, Shiro. Show me how grateful you are. Show me.” 

 

He comes without a hand on his cock. 

 

When they’re panting and catching their breath, Keith strokes his cheek, his hair, kisses his nose. “Are you with me, Shiro?” he asks, soft, and Shiro almost cries again.

 

“Marry me,” is what comes out of his mouth. Keith doesn’t react, so he turns onto his side, desperate. “Keith, marry me.”

 

Keith laughs. At first Shiro takes it as a bad sign, his stomach clenching, but he changes his mind about that when Keith kisses him again. It’s a sloppy kiss, too much tongue, too much of Keith’s sharper teeth as he bites at his bottom lip, but it’s perfect in every way. 

 

“Yeah,” Keith breathes. “I’ll marry you, you idiot. Now let’s take a bath. I can’t believe you ruined my aftercare with a marriage proposal.” 

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me @orionwalking on twitter i'm new in town


End file.
